


I Need You To Remember

by shiro2hero



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Reibert - Freeform, and a bit more personal, but au form, honestly if you know reiner's canon issues it's like that, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-12
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 07:20:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4555728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiro2hero/pseuds/shiro2hero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Police AU. </p><p>Reiner works for the Rose City PD alongside a few of their childhood friends, and Bertholdt works as a gradeschool teacher. When he wakes up in the hospital with no recollection of how he got there, Reiner has to piece together the last year of his life. His only clues lay in a journal, which he quickly discovers holds some gruesome secrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Antiseptic

A strong whiff of antiseptic stings Reiner's nose, waking him rudely from a sound sleep. Instinctively pulling his hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes, he's accosted by the sharp tug of a needle stuck in the soft crook of his elbow. His golden eyes snap open, dilated with distress, as his mind scrambles to figure out where he is. The steady rhythm of incessant beeping that had seemingly acted as a lullaby suddenly speeds up as his heart rate begins to rise. The bustle and rumble of nurses and other staff in the hallway outside filled his ears like white noise, assailing him from all sides at once, overwhelming. The rough cotton of a tie-back gown rubbed his skin uncomfortably, especially underneath the bleach white sheets that were tucked so tightly around his torso and lower extremities. 

He glances furtively around the cramped room, examining the out-of-date television and rose pink curtains draped across the weld-shut windows with interest. His gaze lands curiously on a vase of lilies to his left, and he wonders briefly who had sent them. A small leather bound book rests next to the vase, partially covered by a crisp white envelope. Before he has time to question these items as well, a stout woman dressed in playfully colored scrubs enters the room, her fake smile as vibrant as the yellows and pinks of her geometric print top. Over her shoulder, he glimpses the tell-tale starched and ironed shirt of an officer just outside the room, his back turned, broad shoulder jutting out over the door frame. The nurse cuts off his line of vision as she tuts and fusses over him, asking him questions he ignores. A subtle floral scent breaks the string of antiseptic as she moves closer to check god knows what, ever refusing to answer the one question Reiner has. What am I doing here? He repeats it each time she asks him a question of her own. Her smile fades. Her hazel eyes flash with what Reiner could swear was fear, but brushes off as nothing more than concern for his own well being. She drops her gaze and turns to leave the room abruptly. Reiner's gaze drops, falling once more on the book just out of his reach. 

A sense of urgency washes over him, as if that book is his lifeline, his only hope at knowing why he is here, why he is in a hospital, why there is an armed guard stationed outside his room. Reiner's voice is hoarse and rough with disuse as he pleads with her to bring him the leather bound book. He doesn't know what good it will do, or what it could even contain. But he's suddenly compelled to run his fingers over its cover, to feel whatever small comfort it can seemingly bring to him. He doesn't know why he feels like this book can help. And he doesn't know why the nurse complies, taking quiet steps and gently placing the book, along with the envelope, on his lap. It feels strange to not know things. If he could feel what the black and white snow of a busted television feels like, he imagines it would be something like this. 

The smooth surface of the bleached white envelope feels heavy, almost intimidating between Reiner's rough fingertips. Paper shouldn't have a menacing appeal. It shouldn't be filling him with dread. There shouldn't be anything to fear. Yet the processed fiber gripped loosely in his hands far outweighed any load Reiner had dealt with in his life. He stares at the blank white of the envelope, his brow knit in worry and confusion. Pursing his lips, he turns it over in his hand and tugs the seal open. 

_Reiner,_

He knows this handwriting all too well. Too many notes passed back and forth during grade school. Too many homework assignments copied. Too many study sessions and too much note swapping. Jean's loopy scrawl is all too recognizable. 

_First of all, I'm not going to hold back in this letter. Part of me wants to. The part that grew up with you. The same part that always (and I guess still kinda does) see you as a big brother. But you know what? Fuck that. Fuck every part of my life that you have ever been a part of up until this point. I hope you rot, Reiner. I hope you rot in the deepest depth of hell that could ever be imagined for what you did. That's coming from the part of me that sees you now for what you really are. A fucking monster._

The paper was indented with the words it carried, the ink pressed roughly into the fiber with black ballpoint pen.

_How could you even think about doing those things? I mean fuck! You couldn't fill whatever damn primal urge you had with the lives of random people? Why? Why did you go after him? After all he did for you, all the goddamn support he gave you, all the endless fucking rays of sunshine he offered to you. He offered that to all of us, you know. Anytime someone felt sad, he was there, smiling, and making us laugh and_

Ink dotted the faint blue line of the cheap lined paper, as if Jean had tried to continue the sentence and given up.

_So why the hell did you do it? I swear to Christ, Reiner, I will get a confession out of you if it is the last thing I do. I don't give a single shit what the repercussions are. Marco didn't deserve to die. But he deserves to have his memory mean something._

_I don't know what happened. This isn't like you. It isn't like Bertholdt. Something is wrong. I don't know what it is, I'm trying to figure it out, but I can't get anywhere near the case, not since it was_

_I'm going to fucking figure this out, Reiner. I will. I want to believe that this isn't really you. I want to hold onto some damn small shred of hope that the real Reiner is buried somewhere inside that fucking monster._

_Well, that's what Marco would do._

_I'm sorry._  
Reiner stares at the blank space where Jean's signature should be. His head is pounding now, his heart rate rising steadily once again as he processes the contents of the letter. The accusations Jean threw out in his letter can't be true. The fuzzy feeling in his mind begins to overwhelm him again as he stares at the blank space on Jean's letter, imagining the looping, obnoxiously large signature that should be there. He supposes Jean didn't want the letter connected to himself right off the bat if it were to be found. 

Setting the letter aside, trying desperately to convince himself that Jean has been drinking just a little too much whiskey as of late, Reiner picks up the book nestled between his thighs. His knuckles skim the rough cotton of the sheets, a swift reminder of where he is. He looks up suddenly, taking in his surroundings once more, curiously watching the nurses nod and glance nervously in his direction. The guard standing just outside the door frame of his room shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a meant to put observers at ease and remind them that he's present and attentive. Reiner can practically see the rehearsed, taut smile etched across the man's lips. That body language had been all but instinctive for him ever since he had joined the force. 

Reiner focuses on the book once more. The black leather binding, worn, faded to a dull gray around the edges with use and time, feels rough, yet inexorably soft in his hands. He splays his palm out over the front cover, just about covering the entirety of it. The cool touch of a metal clasp bites into his hand as he presses down. 

For the first time since looking at it, he realizes the book has no title. 

This is not a book. It's a journal. 

He traces over the cracks and crannies of the tired black leather, vaguely sensing its significance. Perhaps is belongs to him. Maybe to Jean? Or Marco? He shouldn't just open it. Thought it was probably left here for a reason. Bertholdt would probably be coming to visit him soon, he could always ask-

_Bertholdt_ , he remembers. The metal bites into Reiner's thumb as he clutches at the journal. A sharp image flashes across his mind. Bertholdt, sobbing and shaking and sweating, tears dampening the gorgeous brown complexion of his face, snot threatening to fall down to his lip with his shaking breath he takes as he clenches the journal tightly in one hand and pulls tenaciously at his chestnut hair. The journal. Bertholdt's journal. 

He should wait until Bertholdt gets here. To see if maybe it was a mistake, maybe Bertholdt doesn't want him to read what's in the journal, maybe he's at home looking for it right this second. 

Reiner's fingers fumble with the brassy metal clasp atop the worn down leather. He opens the cover, basking in the sight of Bertholdt's tidy, school teacher hand. He doesn't remember Bertholdt ever having kept a journal before in his life.

Against his better judgement, Reiner begins reading the first entry.


	2. Storm Comin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First Entry of Bertholdt's Journal.
> 
> *For best effect, listen to Storm Comin' by the Wailin' Jennys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: I forgot that I had decided Bertholdt would be a school teacher rather than a police officer. I changed the fic summary, just keep that in mind! :)

_March 28  
I decided that keeping a journal might be a good idea throughout this whole ordeal. I figure that it might help me keep my thoughts straight. Maybe it will just come back to haunt me one day. I have no idea. But right now this is all I have to keep me grounded. I feel so stressed and panicked right now. I've been nauseous all week. I can't sleep. I can hardly focus on anything at work. Hopefully this will help me sort out everything in my mind. And from the sound of what we're getting into, it's probably a good idea to keep track of everything we do anyway. I know that's not really a good idea; leaving something that could lead directly back to us is incredibly stupid. But what the hell am I supposed to do?_

_I can't reason with Reiner on any of this. I feel like...I don't know. I can't explain why, but I have this pressing notion that I need to keep this journal for him. For him, but also keep it from him. I know he won't approve of it. But I just feel like I need to keep track of his actions especially, and I have no idea why. That sounds so terrible. I love him so much. So much. And I trust him more than anyone else in my life. Hell, I trust him with my life. But since we talked to the pastor he just seems...different. Like there's something in him I've never seen before. Something way too serene for this situation. He seems so calm and okay with everything that we're being forced to do, and honestly it kind of scares me. I don't know what to do. So I guess I'll just keep writing. _

_Last night I tried to talk to him about it. About how afraid I felt. About how we couldn't do this. We were laying in bed as usual, I had my head on his chest, and he was stroking my hair with those broad, strong hands of his. I don't know why, but that combination of things has always made me feel really...safe, I guess. Almost like that's where I belong. But after last night, I just...I don't know._

_I told him I couldn't do it. How am I supposed to teach everyday knowing that I have to go home and face all these tasks? My kids are always so happy to see me. How can I even face them each morning if Reiner and I start this? I told him we should go to Commissioner Erwin and tell him about the threats Nick made, that there was no way anyone would hold anything against us. We could get Nick arrested. But Reiner wouldn't listen. God, why wouldn't he just listen?_

_“It's our only choice, Bertl. We have to protect our families.” We can protect our families! We just have to go turn Nick in, just go talk to someone, anyone and get this guy behind bars! I don't understand it. I just want to understand why he won't see how simple taking care of this could be._

_I want to know why he insists we become killers._

_I asked him what happens if we get caught. He told me that I should run. “Get the hell out of dodge and don't look back.” As if it's that simple. As if I'm supposed to just sit back and let him do all these horrible things, and then just run away. As if I'm supposed to be able to abandon the man I love more than anything else. Just like that._

_I'm so worried about him. And this is just the beginning of the storm._


	3. Across the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Across the Sea by The Wailin' Jennys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I always listen to music when I write. I've decided to add the song titles to the description of every chapter, and most likely name each chapter after those songs. Because they really help me figure out words to write, and maybe y'all will listen to the songs as well. I think it's always cool to get into an author's head like that. Kind of song fic status. Fuck. Shut up. Don't judge me.

April 4  
I have an entire week off. It's Spring Break, so I should be planning lessons and prepping my classroom while all the kids are gone. And I am trying. Christ knows I'm trying. But with Reiner coming in and out of the house at all hours of the day, whether he's going to work, or to meet Connie for lunch, or even just working in the yard...it's absolutely impossible for me to focus, whether he's actually there or not. He's just...too happy. Unnaturally happy. Something's wrong. I need to figure out what it is. 

Only a week has passed. One week. Just one. We haven't even heard from Pastor Nick, but I'm becoming more and more anxious each day. I can't sleep. It's becoming difficult for me to eat. I'm kind of worried about what may happen to my health if we don't stop this before it starts. My kids will be the first ones to notice if anything is wrong. I can't do that to them. They don't deserve that kind of stress. They're just kids. 

Maybe I need to just take control of this situation. I could go in and talk to Commissioner Erwin. Or maybe talk to Jean and see what he can do, since he works with Reiner. Even Marco might have some sort of advice for me. I don't know. I'm sure one of them could help. Yeah. Yes, I need to talk to someone about it. I'll go in tomorrow and talk to Jean. We have to get this cleared up. Then I can stop keeping this stupid journal. I'll be able to eat, I'll be able to sleep. I'll know that Reiner is going to be safe (well, as safe as he can be in his line of work). He'll be safe. I need to know that he's going to be okay. 

But I have to trust Reiner. I've trusted him with everything, absolutely everything, for as long as I can remember. So why should I stop now?

_____

April 5  
Today was a really great day. I mean, really, surprisingly great. Well, considering the situation. Reiner and I have been growing apart a bit for the past week or so...so having a day together, just the two of us, was kind of nice. We laid in bed for a couple hours together, just doing nothing. He'd tickle me, or poke me, and he actually tried to play footsie with me. He hasn't done that in years. I almost forgot how often we used to do that when we were kids. 

He made french toast for me. I swear, no one can make better french toast than Reiner. I am fairly certain he would put Gordon Ramsey to shame when it comes to breakfast foods. Anyway, so we had french toast, and eggs, and coffee, and we sat face to face on the couch. It was awkward because, well, I don't know, I guess it was mostly because my legs are so long. But we made it work. It was nice. Comfortable, even. Lately I've felt like the atmosphere in the house has kind of changed, like...I don't know, gotten...darker?? I don't know how to explain it. But today that feeling got pushed back. Being with Reiner was relaxing again. The way he pulled me into his chest while we took a nap was just so comforting. And the way he smells..god, it's amazing what kind of things you can forget when you get stressed out. He always smells so sweet and musky and just so...Reiner. I really missed it. I missed him. 

But there was something weird going on, too. It was so wonderful to be close to him again after withdrawing myself for a while. But it still seemed like he wasn't really there. It was like...I don't know, like I was looking at him from a distance. Like he was there, calling my name. But like I wasn't really there with him. Almost like it was a wishful thought. I hope it wasn't just a thought. I hope my Reiner was really there with me. 

Goddammit. I couldn't just let the good day be a good day, could I? I had to go and try to analyze it. Dammit! I feel like I'm just being thrown around right now. Like I'm on a ship out on the ocean. Tossing and turning and being constantly hit with waves. I hate it. I hate this so much. 

But Reiner is still here. Even if it feels a little distanced right now, I know I'll still be able to hear him calling out to me while I'm on that ship. He'll always be there. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll talk to Jean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bertl. What even are emotions in a situation like this??


	4. One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reiner has to come to terms with what he's done. He has to know what happened. But he's realizing he probably doesn't really want to know.

Reiner's body stiffened, every muscle of his arms and legs and abdomen pinching and pulling. The ambient noise of the hallway beyond the confines of his sterile smelling room was shut out. Darkness creeped into the edge of his field of vision, and soon the room itself was entirely gone. Images flashed through his mind; the morning Bertholdt had written of seemed clear in his mind. The giggles Bertholdt had unwillingly let out when Reiner had woken him up with tickles in his side. Awkwardly asking for ingredients from the fridge as they both made their way around the kitchen bleary eyed and stiff with rest. Tiffany tangling herself between their legs as she begged for attention. The nearly gymnastic attempts made to accommodate both of their large forms on the couch, spread out in front of one another while they munched on sugary french toast and talked absentmindedly about the weather. And the silence. The silence of a relaxing morning, a beautiful and sensual experience that was so rarely afforded to them. Most strikingly, however, was the overwhelming sense of force, pressing on his shoulders, his sides, every inch of his being. Force on Reiner's part, as if he were trying to hide something. Something he did not want Bertholdt, light of his life and absolute soul mate, to know. That force, dark and looming and altogether invisible, made his skin prickle with goose pimples simply with its remembrance. 

His breathing had quickened. Reiner shook his head, sloughing the memories out of his mind as he willed his lungs to cease heaving and took in the fluorescent surroundings of his hospital room once more. The journal, gripped tightly in his hands, felt heavy, abnormally and outlandishly heavy in his palms. Its weight seemed only to increase when he dropped it, as if burned, into his lap. His hands ached with the stress of holding it for so long, knuckles sore as he stretched them slowly. The brown leather cover of the journal snapped shut, forcing him to look at it as a whole. Its binding was strewn with white creases and cracks, obviously bent and broken during its owner's many entries. The cover itself was rubbed smooth along the corners, as if Bertholdt had gripped those areas time after time, circling the material with his thumbs and forefingers like he tended to do with the hem of his shirt whenever he was nervous. It was then, as he gazed upon the journal tossed so unceremoniously upon the soft blue crocheted hospital blanket, that Reiner realized an indisputable fact: there was no denying this journal belonged to Bertholdt. 

Reiner covered his face with his hands, the rough pads of his fingers digging into his hairline. Tears welled up in his golden hued eyes, drifting silently over the edge and flowing down his face. He wished desperately that Bertholdt would come explain what was happening. 

Jean's letter was still resting ominously at his side. The half sheet of paper felt cumbrous next to his thigh, heavy and weighted with emotion Jean had poured into his words. Even without seeing it, Reiner could feel its stare, accusing, cold, unrelenting. He shook his head again, wiping the salty tears from his face with the rough heels of his hands, and picked up the letter to read over the jilting words once more. 

_How could you even think about doing those things?_

_Why did you go after him?_

_Marco didn't deserve to die._

_Fucking monster._

Marco. Marco had died. But when? Jean seemed convinced that Reiner had killed him, but that was false. Reiner would never, could never, harm Marco. He just couldn't. 

But Bertholdt's journal was telling him otherwise. He set down the letter and delicately picked up the leather bound volume, flipping its pages to the next entry. Until Bertholdt got to the hospital to explain what was happening, this would be Reiner's only form of explanation. He had to figure out why he was in this sickening room. 

 

_April 12_

_I don't know what to do. She's gone. She's gone. God help us. That poor girl is really gone._

A short, ominous entry. Reiner's stomach began churning unpleasantly, but he continued on. 

 

_April 14_

_It's been two days since our first assignment from Nick. That poor girl never stood a chance against us. Reiner waited around a corner and waited for her. She was taking a short cut through an alleyway. She was just a kid! 19 years old. She was 19 years old. And Reiner_

Ink trailed from a heavy dot on the page where Bertholdt had abandoned his sentence. Reiner's grimaced. Bertholdt had obviously been extremely distressed.

_He used a rope. Nick told us to always use a rope. He said he'll always leave one in a discreet location for us, never from the same length as before. I don't know where he's getting it from. But at least the purchases aren't linked back to us._

Flashes of coarse yellow fibers reeled in Reiner's mind. The sting of rubbing alcohol on his hands. The salt of tears that weren't his own. Quick glimpses, gone as quickly as they had come. 

_God. That rope. It felt so heavy in my hands as we waited downtown. It was the middle of the night. We should have been asleep. But there we were, and there was that rope in the palm of my hands. It felt black. I don't care about its straw coloring. It felt black, more black than anything I have ever experienced in my life. The rough fibers bit into my skin where I squeezed it, trying to emulate some sort of feeling to empathize with the girl who would soon feel those fibers biting into the soft flesh of her neck. The girl Reiner was about to squeeze the life out of. Oh my god. He really did._

Again the ink of Bertholdt's pen stained the page, indicating that his hand had been shaking while he wrote. Reiner's gut twisted painfully, begging him to stop reading. 

_I remember Reiner standing next to me, anxiously shifting his weight from foot to foot. I'd never seen him act like that before. He had been so calm, so resolutely collected in the days before. I almost thought he would be able to do it with no problem. But he stopped suddenly. And he cried. He cried like I've never seen anyone cry before. The tears rolled down his cheeks, silently, and he looked over at me with the most horrified expression. He didn't say anything. He couldn't. I knew that. But his eyes...there was no emotion. He was gone. My Reiner wasn't there anymore. Not in that moment. I had choked back a sob as he pulled the rope from my hands, silently telling me the moment was near and I should go back to the car._

_She was a prostitute. She had been baptized at the Church of St. Maria five years ago. Nick had been the one to baptize her. She was 19 when she died._

_Her name was Mandy._

_I was supposed to go see Jean yesterday. How can I even look at him now?_

Darkness crept into Reiner's vision again. He barely managed to stash the journal and Jean's letter behind his back before vomiting on the blankets and sheets before him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I kinda sucked with updating. A combination of school and family problems, and horrendous writers block is probably the absolute worst when you have a fic to update. I'm really sorry. Hope you liked this chapter though! Because Reiner sure didn't! :D


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